e powers of Heaven fought for us;
they assisted us to gain our liberty, it is evident from the very
circumstance, that in our struggle with Great Britain for our
liberty, we had no navy, or none of any consequence, yet Great
Britain lost more line of battle ships in that war than she did
with France, although France is a great naval power. And we should
be thankful to God for all the blessings he hath bestowed upon us
from time to time, and in particular for the blessings of that
unity which we are recently informed prevails among our countrymen
in America; united they stand, nor will the powers of hell be able
to overthrow them. And now let us appeal to the God of Sabaoth,
that is, to the God of armies--let us appeal to Him who holds the
balance, and weighs the events of battles and of realms, and by
his decision we must abide. And may He grant us health, peace and
unity in this our disagreeable situation; and let us all join in
concord to praise the Ruler and Governor of the universe. Amen.
Amen.

Among the songs sung on this occasion, were several composed by
seafaring people, in our own country. The following drew tears from
the eyes of our generous hearted sailors. It pathetically describes
what many of them had experienced, the _impressment of an American
sailor boy_, by a British man of war, _the tearing up of his legal
protection_, and of his _sinking under a broken heart_. It was written
by Mr. _John De Wolfe_, of Rhode Island.

_The Impressment of an American Sailor Boy._

A SONG,

_Sung on board the British prison ship Crown Prince, the Fourth of
July, 1813, by a number of the American prisoners._

The youthful Sailor mounts the bark,
And bids each weeping friend adieu;
Fair blows the gale, the canvass swells;
Slow sinks the uplands from his view.

Three mornings, from his ocean bed,
Resplendent beams the God of day;
The fourth, high looming in the mist,
A war-ship's floating banners play.

Her yawl is launch'd; light o'er the deep,
Too kind, she wafts a ruffian band;
Her blue track lengthens to the bark,
And soon on deck the miscreants stand.

Around they throw the baleful glance;
Suspense holds mute the anxious crew--
Who is their prey?--poor sailor boy!
The baleful glance is fix'd on you.

Nay, why that useless scrip unfold?